Living is killing, Loving is Dying
by Aphotic Occultist
Summary: HP is battling w/ himself...he can barely go on any longer, suffering in dreams and reality...meanwhile his friend and enemy are having their own problems in their secret relationship. r + r...better than sounds...takes place after book 5


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~*~*~ Everything was going by in quick flashes of light. High-pitched cackling laughter, a girl's scream and a pale skinned, platinum haired boy lunging forward into a flash of blood red, stygian, light. People were screaming, crying, moaning. Different sounds and feelings were mingled in the stifling, yet open air. A body slumped to the floor, dead weight. I ran and ran, trying to escape the aphotic shrieks of laughter... ~*~*~

A raven-haired boy with newly hardened, jade eyes awakened violently, clutching his scar. "Shit," said Harry, having gone through another sleepless night. He sat up in bed panting, wanting nothing more than to have everything fade away...

Harry was just flopping down on his bed, when there was a faint rapping sound at his window. "Goddamn it, what now?!" muttered and exasperated Harry. All the same, he got up, and let his snowy owl, Hedwig, into the room. She clucked at him, giving him a reproachful look. It was quite obvious that she, like others sensed, and disliked the change that had taken place in him. He patted her quickly and detached three letters from her leg. Harry saw he had been written to by Ron and Hermione, and put them aside. He looked at the third envelope, and briefly wondered why it was anonymous. He tore it open anyway, expecting a prank from a friend, but as soon as the letter was opened, an acrid smell filled the room and he heard malicious laughter and whispering inside his head. Everything went dark and Harry felt numb. The whispering grew louder and he could make out three words, all scrambled together_...mori, alea, cubus. morialeacubusmo-lea- bus._ Harry grabbed a small dagger he kept by his bed. _...Alea, alea alea..._ he was in a trance of words, flying all around him. _...Mori, mori, mori..._a stream of blood trickled down his wrist as he pressed the blade deeper and deeper_... CUBUS! CUBUS! CU-_

With a loud screech, Harry snapped out of it and found he was holding the jeweled dagger to his wrist. He dropped it and stared at the puddle of scarlet blood on the floor. Hedwig hooted softly and pecked her bleeding master. She looked at him with her beautiful eyes, pained at seeing him in such a state. She gave him a reassuring brush of her wing, and hopped to his desk, returning with a quill and parchment. She gazed at him expectantly as he picked up his quill and addressed his letter to the only person he could turn to about such an episode...Dumbledore.

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"Dear Dumbledore,

I had another dream. When is all this gonna stop?! I'm sick of this, and I can't hold on for much longer.

I got an envelope in the mail. When I opened it, the smell was atrocious and I heard whispering noises...like a chant. Somehow, I fell into some sorta trance...tried to kill myself. And I'm telling you, if all this doesn't stop soon, I wont even need a trance for that...

I'm beginning to think people were right about me...I'm losing it, and I'm losing it fast. My dreams are getting worse and I keep on hearing voices...

I need to get out of here. Out of this wretched body, out of this life.

Please, I need help. Help me, or watch me implode and watch the earth fall into the cold hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort..."

--Harry Potter

Harry got up shakily, feeling dizzy from loss of blood. He tied the letter to Hedwig's leg, and she flew off into the darkness. He looked down at the bloodstained rug and wondered for a fleeting moment, what he was to say to his beloved aunt and uncle Dursley. Than he came to the realization that he couldn't care less what they thought. Let them yell, he thought with bitter laughter. No use trying to please them, and if they give me any bullshit, I can just send in the order to scare them into oblivion. He liked this thought. He pictured Mad-eye Moody with his eye, Tonks with her brightly colored hair, and all the others storming in loudly so all the neighbors would see them. He let out a snort of laughter; the first, he realized, in weeks.

Remembering that he still had not opened the letters received from Ron and Hermione, he did so. Hermione was asking about how many O.W.L.'s he got, which O.W.L.'s he got, and what he got on them. He smiled wryly, what else would she be writing him for? She also excitedly told him that she got an "O" meaning "Outstanding" on all of her O.W.L.'s, except for in astrology, in which she got an "E" meaning exceeding expectations. Enclosed in the list of her O.W.L. grades, was an explanation of how she would have, of course, gotten better than an "E" if it weren't for her being nervous about Professor McGonagal being shot in the chest with four stunning spells.

Harry felt a pang in his chest at the mention of one of the many incidents of his previous year at Hogwarts. Soon, countless memories were drowning him. Realizing his father was arrogant, all the times he wanted to die...but worst of all.Sirius. he couldn't bear the thought of it, and tried to focus on something else, but no matter how hard he tried it was to no avail. Everything dear to him was being snatched away by the icy, desensitized hands of death. Harry recalled all the times when his godfather had been a great comfort to him, and realized with a start, that he had only known him for two years before...this... And it was all his fault.

Harry sat silently, with fiery tears of rage streaming down his god- forsaken face. His father had died for him; his mother had died for him, and now, Sirius. Even Neville, Luna, Hermione, Ron and Ginny were willing to die for him, but thankfully, they had not. He was sickened by what he had become. Self pitying, self loathing, depressed, stupid. he did not even want to try to bring himself to think of everything horrible about himself. He was just too damn tired.

Ron's letter was similar to Hermione's, except instead of boasting about his O.W.L.'s, he was complaining about them. He had gotten good marks in defense against the dark arts, and care of magical creatures, Ron had said, but atrocious ones in history of magic and astrology.

"They mustn't know how I am falling so miserably apart," thought Harry. So he wrote back a rather cheerful response to both of them:

Dear Hermione/Ron, (he sent the same letter to both)

I'm glad you are doing ok; I am all right as well. I did ok on my

O.W.L.'s, I got "O's" in Defense Against the Dark Arts,

Transfiguration, Charms, and believe it or not, POTIONS! I guess my

only problem there is having that old grease ball breathing down my

neck al the time...As expected, I did horrendously on astrology, as it

sounds like you and Hermione/Ron didn't do so great either. Well, I hope 

you have a wonderful rest of vacation. 

--Harry Potter

P.S. the Dursleys haven't bothered me yet...probably because of Moody's

warning. Great big blokes.

Harry put away his extra parchment and quill. Yawning and stretching, he quietly descended the stairs, finally being able to enjoy the TV he had never been able to use before. And so he waited for Hedwig's return.


End file.
